


Doubt

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Early Days, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Did Lewis hit Dunstan? Would he have?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindenharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindenharp/gifts).



> For Lindenharp; I hope you're having a wonderful birthday!
> 
> Passing reference to a couple of incidents in _Morse_ and _Endeavour_ episodes (The Way Through the Woods, Coda). And apologies to ComplicatedLight; we seem to have hit on similar-ish themes. Great minds think alike?
> 
> * * *

The first thing James sees, when he walks back into the room, is that their suspect is cradling his right arm protectively and grimacing in pain.

The second thing he sees is Lewis, a look of fury on his face, flexing his fist and stretching his fingers. 

Biting out his words, James says, “Uniforms are on their way. I’ll call again and ask for the station medic to be on standby, shall I?”

Lewis merely grunts and, brushing past James, stalks out of the room.

* * *

They’d gone to Karl Dunstan’s surgery to question him again concerning his whereabouts on the night of the latest suspicious death, this one definitively ruled as murder by Dr Hobson, and this time he’d tripped himself up completely, incriminating himself in response to a series of cleverly–worded questions from Lewis. Dunstan had realised the game was up and had started trying to defend his actions in an increasingly pathetic self–justificatory way. At that point, James had left the room to call for backup and let the team know he and Lewis would be making an arrest.

Dunstan is a GP based in the wealthier suburbs of north Oxford, who came to their attention when James discovered that in each of three recent suspicious deaths – the first two of which were ruled cause undetermined – the deceased were elderly women who had recently changed their wills to include a bequest to Dr Dunstan. Further investigation turned up at least eight other deaths over the past few years in which a bequest was made to Dunstan. 

“Questionable, at the very least,” had been Lewis’s response, and they’d headed off to speak to Dunstan again. He’d been interviewed originally merely to exclude him, since the dead woman’s neighbour had reported seeing him visiting her the evening before she was found dead. A GP visiting a patient known to be in poor health had seemed routine, however, and they’d accepted his explanation at the time.

Now the truth’s come out, though it will take a lot of trawling through his patient records to see how many other patients he’s exploited over the years, putting pressure on them to change their wills in his favour – and how many he’s helped to their deaths after getting impatient at their failure to expire soon enough for his liking. 

Dunstan is an entirely despicable specimen of humankind, and James shares what he knows is Lewis’s contempt for him. But that doesn’t excuse using violence against him, if that’s what Lewis did.

Somehow, in the three minutes James was out of the room, Dunstan’ arm was injured – a suspected broken radius, if the doctor’s complaints as he’s being led out by uniforms are correct. He’s not making any allegations about how it happened, but there’s Lewis standing on the pavement outside the surgery, and now he’s massaging his fingers.

Did Lewis hit Dunstan? Would he have?

And if he did, then what?

Well, there’s no question that Innocent would take action; James has absolutely no doubt about that. He knows the Chief Super well enough by now to be certain that she tolerates no obvious mis-steps or breaches of police discipline – especially any egregious enough to make headlines in the media. Lewis would face disciplinary action. But what would it mean for James himself?

His first governor was not of his choosing; Chief Superintendent Strange assigned him to DI Knox when he was transferred to the central Oxford nick. He’d known immediately that it wasn’t a good fit. Knox might have been an experienced detective, but he was closed-minded, prejudiced and short-tempered, and had no time for James’s academic knowledge and preference for following standard procedure. To Knox, a bagman’s role was to do as he was told and keep any ideas he might have to himself. James’s expressed doubts about some of Knox’s arrests went unheard, and he wasn’t surprised when almost every collar he’d been sceptical about was either not prosecuted by CPS or acquitted in court.

James _chose_ Lewis. It had been a series of extraordinary coincidences: being ordered to meet a returning DI at Heathrow on the same morning as his governor was caught driving over the limit, and then Lewis’s extraordinary insistence on jumping right into an investigation when he hadn’t even properly got home. And then Grainger being stuck in court when there was a murder in need of investigating. 

If even one of those things hadn’t happened, James might never have met Lewis at all, and certainly wouldn’t have ended up working with him temporarily on the Regan Peverill murder. But he had – and had seen for himself that Lewis is a skilled detective, thoughtful and perceptive despite first appearances, someone who insists on seeing a job done properly rather than rushing to the simplest solution, and a good and decent man who believes in doing the right thing. Someone who believes in supporting and listening to his subordinates, too, instead of seeing them as mere resources to be ordered around.

He’d asked Lewis to be his governor, confident that – despite the very real and understandable grief the man still carries around, and the bewildered anger that’s sometimes not far from the surface as a result – he’d made the right choice. But now? If Lewis did injure Dunstan, then James’s judgement was wrong yet again. He’s made so many poor decisions in his life: about people, about career directions, about life choices and values; but he’d been hopeful – even confident – that this wasn’t one of those. That Lewis was someone he could respect, admire and serve with honour. Is he wrong yet again – and can he ever trust his own judgement again? 

Lewis is angrily silent on the way back to the nick, every line on his face and the tight grip of his hands on the steering-wheel declaring loudly and clearly that he doesn’t wish to talk. Even James’s short acquaintance with Lewis has taught him that it’s best to remain silent when the man’s in this kind of mood. He learnt his lesson on their last investigation when he’d tried to argue against Lewis’s stubborn insistence that Theodore Platt had to be their murderer, based purely on his prejudiced dislike of the man.

That’s not the real Lewis, James does know that. The man sitting next to him is overall a good and decent man, and a fair-minded copper. That was evident in the first case they’d worked together, and by and large he hasn’t seen much to change his opinion since then. But Lewis has a couple of blind spots – mainly related to the circumstances of his wife’s death – and he has a temper, which in James’s opinion can potentially blind him to good judgement.

Enough to make him lash out against a suspect? 

Lewis is an older generation of copper. At a guess, he’s been in the force since the late Seventies, which is well pre-PACE. He’s been a copper during the miners’ strike – was he on the picket lines? The history of policing in the 1980s, just like previous decades, is riddled with examples of brutality by serving police officers which went unreported. James isn’t naive enough to believe that kind of shameful misconduct has been completely eradicated, nor that it’s impossible for it to be happening in his own nick. 

But _Lewis_? He really doesn’t know the man remotely well enough to be certain.

James could just ask Lewis – but he doesn’t feel he can. Not right now. It’s not that he’s afraid of being shouted at, which is what will definitely happen if he does ask. It’s... what if he’s wrong? He didn’t see what happened, after all. And to accuse his governor of assaulting Dunstan – because there’s no way that question could be taken in any other way – would be unforgivable if he is wrong. It would destroy the beginnings of trust and respect that he believes – _hopes_ – Lewis has developed in him.

But Dunstan would say something. Of course he would, and he’ll have every opportunity to. He’s being taken into custody by uniforms, and James has already arranged for the police doctor to examine him on arrival. Dunstan will be asked how he got the injury. If there’s anything to worry about, it will be reported.

* * *

Back at the nick, James offers to see that Dunstan is booked in and ready for interviewing. But Lewis instantly shakes his head. “Uniforms’ll see to him. I need you to get digging – see whether there could be other victims we don’t know about. Get people looking at every death certificate he’s signed and find out whether he was named in the will. Any other bequests where someone else certified the death. Anyone – family members, other GPs, _anyone_ who might have had suspicions. If this is gonna turn into another Harold Shipman, we don’t want to miss anything.”

James nods, masking his frustration. Lewis is right – a case like this could make national headlines. “Yes, sir.” He starts towards their shared office; Lewis doesn’t follow. 

Should he do anything? He can’t go down to the custody suite, because that’s where Lewis is off to; his boss is heading down the corridor that’ll take him there. James could go to Innocent, but what would he say? He didn’t _see_ anything, after all. It’s all circumstantial, and without Dunstan’s side of events there’s no evidence. If he’d actually seen Lewis lay hands on Dunstan, there’d be no question about the right thing to do: of course James would go to Innocent. As it is, he needs more information. Somehow, he either has to talk to Dunstan, or confront Lewis.

It’s a couple of hours before Lewis reappears, and he wants an update on progress, which James supplies. He has three DCs working on the death certificates, and another two looking into bequests. It’ll be weeks at least before they have an idea of what they could be looking at here, and how many other charges they may be able to add to those relating to the murders Dunstan has already admitted to.

Lewis nods as James finishes his report. “Good work, Hathaway. And the custody sergeant phoned me a few minutes ago to confirm Dunstan is safely in a cell downstairs – police doctor says his forearm’s just bruised, no need for X–rays. Pint, soon as I’ve checked my messages?”

James hesitates just a moment too long – how can he possibly have a casual pint with his boss with this issue unresolved? – and Lewis frowns. “Come on, out with it. You’ve been stewing over something since we left Dunstan’s surgery.”

He takes a deep breath. “How did Dunstan get injured?”

“What?” Lewis’s brow creases – and then his mouth turns down, forbidding. “You think _I_ hurt him? How _dare_ –” He breaks off, and his struggle to stay calm is written all over his face. “I’ve been a copper for more than thirty years. I have _never_ used any more force than absolutely necessary to restrain a suspect, and I bloody wouldn’t start now. Not even with a bastard like him.”

“Sir.” James takes a deep breath. “Please consider what I actually said. I didn’t accuse you of anything.”

“It’s what you believe.” Lewis’s expression is as forbidding as when James had challenged him over his attitude to Platt.

James looks down. “I don’t want to believe it, sir. I didn’t think you were capable of– But I know what I saw.”

There’s a pause, and then Lewis says, “What did you see?” James looks up again at the faint puzzlement in Lewis’s voice.

Formally, as if giving evidence in a courtroom, James says, “When I came back into the room, Dunstan was holding his arm and you were massaging your fist. Sir.”

And Lewis’s expression immediately clears. He shakes his head. “He tried to make a run for it, and I blocked him. _Not_ with my fist.” Lewis stands and holds his arms out, hands up, demonstrating. “He elbowed me–” He gestures to the hand he’d been favouring earlier. “–and tried to dodge past me, but he banged into his filing cabinet. From what I could see, his arm got the worst of it.” Lewis sits again. “Check with the medic – Dunstan told him exactly how it happened. And just in case you’re wondering, I wasn’t there at the time.”

It has the absolute ring of truth, and James doesn’t need to talk to the police doctor to confirm it. 

Relief slams through him with a force so strong his heart races to a gallop. He wasn’t wrong about this man. His instincts weren’t mistaken. Robert Lewis is the good, decent man and conscientious copper, worthy of respect, that James believed him to be. It’s a relief, too, because James _likes_ this man, as well as respecting him. He’d actually started to believe that he might have found a place to belong, despite all the reasons why an over–educated, pedantic social misfit and failed Catholic shouldn’t remotely fit in the police force. If Lewis had been responsible for Dunstan’s injury, he doesn’t think he could ever have overlooked it, despite what it would have meant for that place he’d thought he’d found, but now he doesn’t have to make that choice.

“I...” James is starting to stammer, and he immediately closes his mouth to steady himself. “I apologise, sir. I jumped to conclusions and I shouldn’t have.”

Lewis shakes his head. “You’re a good copper, Hathaway. When you think something’s not right, you speak up. I respect that.” And that solidifies it, as if James had needed any other evidence. Lewis really is the decent, generous man he’d appeared to be over those first few days of their acquaintance. He pushes his chair back and stands. “Let’s get that pint.”

It feels more like an order than an invitation, so James shuts down his computer and follows his boss out of the office.

* * *

“Meant what I said,” Lewis says, putting their pints on the riverside table outside the Victoria Arms. “Takes courage to stand up to a senior officer. Especially over something like that.” He raises his glass in James’s direction, then takes a sip. “Did it meself as a DS, but it was easier for me. I’d been a copper a lot longer than you, and I’d already passed me inspector’s exam. It wasn’t Morse either – it was a different DCI I’d been working with. And – not that I’d have done anything different – I knew Morse would support me. He always despised bully coppers too.”

“Yes?” James keeps his tone politely restrained, much though he’d like to know every detail of the incident Lewis has avoided describing, and he’d love to know more about his boss’s partnership with the legendary DCI Morse.

“Oh, yes.” Lewis’s smile is fondly reminiscent. “Saw him tell a few of them off over the years. Told me more than once that police brutality was a disgusting stain on the reputation of the force. He told me his opinions on the subject had almost cost him his place with his first governor when he was a DC, but he couldn’t stand by and see senior officers behave like criminals, no matter who that officer was.” Lewis takes another drink. “Can’t be certain, but I suspected he’d also had a run–in with Strange years ago over the same thing. Morse respected Strange, but only up to a point. Had to have been a reason for that, and the only thing Morse hated more than incompetence in other coppers was violence.”

James nodded. “I agree with him entirely, sir.”

“Me too. So you did the right thing to ask me, Hathaway. Should’ve done it sooner, if that’s what you thought you’d seen.” Lewis sets his glass down and looks straight at James, not unkindly. “I’m not looking for a yes–man as a bagman. You’re not always gonna agree with me, and that’s the way it should be. The number of times I disagreed with Morse...” He shakes his head with a wry smile. “Makes us all better detectives – and better people. Tell me you think I’m wrong, point out my mistakes, keep telling me if you think I go too far, and I’ll do the same for you. All right?”

“I can do that, sir.”He’s feeling almost light–headed with relief now. He did make the right choice. His judgement wasn’t flawed this time. Lewis really is the man James believed him to be, the man who can help James become a better human being. And, maybe, he can help Lewis too, if his governor will let him. He lets himself relax enough to smile. “I will absolutely do that. Thank you.”

Lewis’s face creases into an expression that’s already, even after such a short time, becoming warmly familiar to James; if he had to translate it, it would probably say _daft sod_. “Now drink up. I fancy Indian, an’ they always send too much for one. You can come back to mine an’ help me finish it.”

“I think I could manage that, sir.” James applies himself to his pint and his cigarette, and as Lewis falls silent, he allows himself a few moments to reflect on his good fortune.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> PACE is the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, which among many other things set down rules for the treatment of suspects. And Harold Shipman was a GP in the north of England who killed at least 250 of his patients over a period of 23 years. He might have been charged sooner than he actually was, and three lives could have been saved, but for an apparently poor investigation by police. More information here: hhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harold_Shipman


End file.
